Save This Sarah
by Lord Kristine
Summary: A reflection on the life of Sarah the Mosasaur Announcer.
1. Forethoughts

"Left. A little to your left . . . No, your other left . . . That's up . . . That's down . . . That's diagonal- Look, do you want me to do it instead?"

Sarah watches Vivian teeter back and forth on a metal ladder. She nearly loses her balance and grabs the banister she is decorating with panic, dropping eight purple ribbons in the process. When she's steadied herself, she takes a deep breath.

"Sarah, do we _have_ to hang these things?"

"Of course we do," she says matter-of-factly, "Purple is my favorite color. Let me try. I have better balance."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

"I know, but I'd prefer if this chore didn't end with you breaking your neck."

Vivian rolls her eyes and reaches out to tie a ribbon around one of the poles.

"This would be so much easier if I had hands . . ."

Sarah shrugs.

"That's what happens when you end up as a herbivorous dinosaur, I guess. Just be glad that you're not a stegoceratops or something."

Vivian snorts.

"Oh, yeah, like _you'd_ understand. You're a _reptile_."

"So if I slap you, will it be in cold blood?" Sarah retorts.

Vivian laughs so hard that she makes the ladder shake. Suddenly, it falls out from beneath her, and Sarah has to think fast to avoid disaster. She runs over and catches Vivian, supporting her with wobbly knees for a few seconds before giving in and being smooshed by a rather large dinosaur rump. Once Vivian is on her feet again, Sarah groans and peels her face off of the ground.

"You know, one of the disadvantages of us being different species is the fact that our sizes don't quite match," she mutters as she rubs her snout in pain.

"You calling me fat?" Vivian asks somewhat defensively.

"No, just . . . full," Sarah replies, making a round gesture with her paws.

Vivian snorts in offense.

"Well, I'm not as fat as Claire."

Sarah rolls her eyes.

"Vivian, sometimes I think you _look_ for opportunities to put her down."

Vivian grumbles and crosses her arms, sitting back on her haunches.

"Claire was a bitchy boss. I'm sure _you_ had to put up with her once or twice."

Sarah smiles nostalgically.

"Yeah. She threatened to fire me for bringing a crossbow to work."

Vivian nickers like a horse.

"Exactly! She was completely unrea- Wait, a _crossbow_? Christ, Sarah, that sounds dangerous!"

"In the wrong hands, yes," she replies breezily, "I was always careful, though. Really, I ought to have gone into something other than mosasaur training. I had so many unused skills . . ."

Vivian props up the ladder, ready to try again.

"Yeah, you must have lived one hell of a life before coming to Jurassic World."

Sarah shakes her head as she holds Vivian steady.

"Naw, I just tried a lot of things. I couldn't stick to one hobby, because they were all so interesting. I guess that makes me 'diversified' or whatever."

"Would it be appropriate to comment on the fact that you're a hybrid prehistoric reptile?"

Sarah smiles.

"It's not exactly a secret . . ."

Vivian manages to tie a purple bow around the banister. She stares at it pensively, then looks down at Sarah.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why you're so happy all the time."

Sarah laughs.

"What's wrong with being happy?"

"Nothing," Vivian affirms, "Only everyone else who ended up as an animal is sad about it."

"Not Vic. Not Mr. Masrani."

"Vic is a pansy and Mr. Masrani is freakishly optimistic. But Zara and _especially_ Claire are unhappy about the whole mess."

Sarah quirks the corner of her mouth uncertainly.

"Well, Zara's doing better now that she has someone who loves her unconditionally, and Claire is miserable for a lot of reasons."

"Like what?" Vivian asks.

"Well, she has low self-esteem, for one thing."

Vivian scoffs.

"Are you _kidding_? She presents as an arrogant bitch."

"It's a defense mechanism," Sarah states flatly, "She may _seem_ confident, but if you really watch her, you can tell that she's not. She's always avoiding mirrors and she's constantly examining herself like there's something wrong with the way she is. On top of that, she gives Owen these 'why are you still with me' kind of looks. It's sad, really."

"That they're still together?"

"That she's so self-conscious," Sarah says impatiently.

Vivian frowns.

"Come on. Don't tell me that it isn't weird that Claire and Owen are still together. They aren't even the same species anymore . . ."

"That's a hypocritical thing to say, and you know it," Sarah scolds.

Vivian snorts angrily and slides down the ladder, forcing her to back up.

"Who cares if it's hypocritical? Their relationship is gross."

Sarah gives her a serious look.

"Vivian, listen to yourself. They love each other, and you're putting them down. Doesn't that strike you as even a little bit unfair?"

Vivian tosses her head angrily.

"You think that criticizing them counts as discrimination?"

"Yes."

"And how do you know what discrimination even _is_?"

"Because I lived it."


	2. Adulthood

Sarah doesn't quite fit in. This is both a good and a bad thing, because she likes being different, but on the other hand, it's hard to have no one she can relate to. That doesn't mean she's unpopular, though. As a matter of fact, people seem to really, really like her nowadays. Usually, after only a few minutes of conversation, complete strangers will reveal their deepest, darkest secrets to her. It's like they think she's an expert confidante or something. She _is_ good at keeping secrets, but it's not like that's a hard thing to do. She just has to remember not to tell anyone what she heard. Nothing could be simpler.

Well, maybe Sarah is just lucky, because none of the secrets she has to keep are dangerous. No one has ever confessed to murder or criminal activity. The worst secret she's ever heard was from Zara, who compulsively stole her boss' fancy pen when she heard that she had to work through Christmas. Other than that, Sarah's had no major secrets to keep.

Speaking of secrets, it looks like she's about to add another one to the collection. One of the raptor trainers decided to sit down beside her while she was eating lunch, and she made the mistake of initiating a conversation. In the span of less than five minutes, he went from cool and composed to utterly insane. He started ranting and raving about how he was in love with Claire Dearing, which struck Sarah as somewhat creepy, considering they had only gone out on one date.

"But it was all I needed," he recounts, "You should have seen how she looked that night. She was gorgeous. Kind of made me feel shitty for not dressing up all fancy-like, but other than that . . . You know, I really thought things were going well. It started off kind of awkward, but then she opened up . . . It's weird, I've forgotten a huge chunk of what happened that night. It's like I hit my head or something. I remember being in the restaurant, reaching for her hand . . . then nothing. Somehow, we ended up walking back to her office real late, but I don't remember how we ended up back at the park. Is that unusual?"

Sarah shrugs.

"Kind of."

"Anyway, we stopped in the middle of Main Street, and just sort of . . . _looked_ at each other. I could have sworn that she was leaning forward. I kind of thought . . . I mean . . . Look, I went in for a kiss, and she pulled back all of a sudden like she was afraid of me. I tried to do it again, but she pushed me away and said that I ought to go home, because we weren't 'good for each other'. What does that even _mean_?"

"I dunno," Sarah mutters.

"Yeah, me neither, but it really hurt to hear her say it. I was absolutely positive that we were meant to be together, because I've been having these weird dreams-"

Oh, lord. Here come the delusional fantasies. This guy is nuts.

"Not dreams, exactly, but more like . . . Well, I want to say memories, but that can't be right, because they're crazy. I just . . . they make me feel . . ."

He sighs.

"It's hard to explain, but I just _know_ that Claire and I are meant for each other. It's like a- a _cosmic bond_ or something."

Yep. He's a total nutter.

"Do you think Claire feels the same way?" Sarah asks, entertaining his insanity.

"I do," he affirms, "There's no way she can't be feeling this as well."

Sarah shakes her head.

"Look, Owen- Your name _is_ Owen, right?"

He nods.

"Alright, I think you need to take a step back," she says in her best 'therapist voice', "I'm not denying that you have . . . _feelings_ for Claire, but there's no way to know for sure that she shares them."

Owen shakes his head quickly.

"No, no, she _has_ to. This is unlike anything I've ever felt in my entire life, and I'm absolutely positive that she feels the same way."

"Then why hasn't she come to you?"

Owen's voice falters.

"She- she might be confused . . ."

Sarah puts her hand on his.

"Owen, listen to me. No matter what you're feeling, you can't just go around claiming that you have some sort of 'cosmic bond' with a woman who won't even give you the time of day. You've only had one date-"

"It was enough."

"I know, I know," she says patronizingly, "But it obviously wasn't enough for _her_. Why don't you just forget about Claire and find someone different?"

Owen is getting flustered.

"No! It _has_ to be Claire. You just don't get it!"

Sarah _does_ get it. This guy is obviously an obsessive creep, and she needs to protect her boss from his weird, metaphysical delusions.

"Owen, you can't just-"

Suddenly, he stands up and slams his fist on the table, knocking a bottle of ketchup onto Sarah's lap.

"Why did I even come to _you_ for advice?" he hisses, "You don't know the first thing about normal relationships!"

Sarah does not reply. The ketchup is leaking onto her skirt, but she barely notices. Once Owen has stormed away, however, she picks up the bottle and hobbles over to the washroom to clean herself up. As she scrubs the red gunk out of her clothing, she hears a familiar voice in the stall behind her.

"Sarah, is that you?"

She turns off the faucet.

"Claire? What are _you_ doing here? This isn't even your staff lounge!"

"I needed a bathroom. And don't complain about me being here, because I know a lot of people who feel uncomfortable when _you're_ -"

"I'm sorry," Sarah interrupts, "I've been having a rough day. I'm just surprised that you're all the way across the park, that's all. It's nothing personal."

Claire sighs.

"Right. Sorry. I guess it _is_ a little bit odd. Now that you're here, can you tell me something? Does Owen Grady use this staff room?"

"Sometimes," Sarah replies, "I just saw him, actually. He knocked a bottle of ketchup onto my lap."

"Was he mad because of me?"

Sarah has no qualms about revealing his secret.

"Yeah, he's bonkers. He kept going on and on about how he's been having these weird daydreams about you, and he insisted that you're having them too. Isn't that crazy?"

". . . Yeah . . ."

Sarah doesn't like the way she paused before answering.


	3. Womanhood

Part of the reason Sarah is always so cheerful is that she has to compensate for the world around her. Everyone is so bitter and cynical that she can't help but feel it's her duty to lighten the mood. That's why she's known as "the fun one". It's her favorite title, but that's not saying much, because some of the other nicknames she's earned are less than flattering. The worst part about these pseudonyms is that the aspect of her identity that they stem from is not under her control. While someone like "B.O. Joe" is known for a quirk that could easily be changed (with a little soap), Sarah has no way of "fixing" herself. As much as she's tried to shift her reputation to something more positive, that one glaring aspect of her persona will always be the primary signifier of who she is for the majority of staff, and although she's never addressed it in great detail, she feels that this is unfair.

Of course, people don't usually mean to hurt her feelings. It's not like they shout slurs to her face or anything. Still, it's just as hurtful when she catches someone talking behind her back, discussing what shouldn't even be a problem, in Sarah's opinion. They treat it like it's some huge, Earth-shattering phenomenon, when really it doesn't have to be.

Sarah has considered making her concerns public, but really, it's not something she wants to hold a press conference about. If people could learn to accept- No, that would be asking too much. Sarah doesn't want people to think that she's trying to make a statement. She doesn't want to change the world, she just wants to live a normal life. And yes, that would be easier if people could accept her, but at the same time, she knows that change doesn't happen in a flash. It would take years and years to convince people to treat her normally, but for now, she'd just like to do what she does without anyone interfering. Even if they have to _ignore_ that part of her, she'd be much happier. All she wants is to be an employee like any other.

But that's never going to happen. Just when she thinks that everything is okay, she will be proven wrong.

As she is walking to work, she hears her name being spoken. Two women are talking about her. They don't know she's there.

"Yeah, my son is supposed to be working at the mosasaur feeding show, but we need Sarah's permission for some reason."

"Sarah? Who's she?"

"Oh, you know: the dyke."

It's about the ugliest word Sarah can think of. She feels her heart sinking into her stomach, and before she can stop herself, her lip begins to quiver. Tears brim at her eyes, and she turns back the way she came, forgetting that she was on her way to work. She doesn't want to let the women bother her, but the power of that godawful word is too great. She spends the rest of the day locked in her room, sobbing helplessly.

Later, she receives a phone call from Claire Dearing. They had to cancel one of the feeding shows because Sarah didn't show up, and that made the guests very unhappy. She tells Claire that she sprained her ankle, and was forced to visit the hospital. It doesn't feel good to lie, but what choice does she have? Even if she explained her situation, would Claire be understanding? It's probably best not to drag her into her personal drama, especially when it's such a taboo subject. For now, at least, she'll just have to forget the woman's comment.

The next day, Sarah arrives at the lagoon on time. She smiles extra bright as she recites her mosasaur facts to an excited audience, and the show goes rather well. Still, she can't bring herself to forget the impact of that ugly word that will be used to identify her until the day she dies. To her coworkers, she will always be "the dyke". As much as she wishes that she could be more than that abhorrent word, she knows that it will forever be her second name. A name that she hates. A name that was chosen for her.

And that will never change.


	4. Youth

"You should audition for the talent show, Sarah!"

It's about the billionth time someone has suggested this. Sarah is getting tired of it. She's in university, after all, not first grade. All of this "talent show" nonsense is just an excuse for prodigies to play piano and cheerleaders to show off their baton-twirling (aka spinning a stick in a gratuitously revealing outfit). And what kind of a university hosts talent shows, anyway? It's childish, plain and simple. She may as well be playing dress-up.

Sarah's not exactly sure why so many people have been telling her to enter. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she's generally good at a lot of things. But does that really merit praise? Sarah does what she does for fun, not recognition. Boasting about her talents would be a bad move if she wants to keep her friends. Then again, her friends are the ones encouraging her to enter, so they probably wouldn't mind. In any case, she doesn't want to seem pompous, so it's best to just say no.

"I'm not entering the talent show, Becca," she says simply.

"Come _on_ ," Becca whines, "You're good at _everything_. You know Kung Fu-"

"Only a few very specific styles. And I'm better at karate."

"-you're an expert cake decorator-"

"So I did a commission for one wedding. Big deal."

"-you can recite the entirety of Moby Dick from memory-"

"Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me . . . Sorry, what were you saying?"

Becca blinks.

"I lost my train of thought when you started taking about slapping hats off of people. Look, Sarah, I think this will be good for you. You keep saying that you want to contribute more to the university, so here's your chance."

Sarah rolls her eyes emphatically.

"Right. I was thinking more like charity and volunteer work, but juggling flaming chainsaws to win a trophy sounds _so_ much better."

Becca crosses her arms in a childish manner.

"Fine. Have it your way. But _I'm_ going to enter, and I'll be super disappointed if you don't."

Sarah sighs and rubs her forehead. Becca is really pushing for this, and she's getting fed up.

"Look, I just don't want to show off," she explains, "I'll sit there in the audience to support you, but I don't want to be part of the actual show."

"Why not?" Becca whines.

Sarah grimaces.

"I'm just . . . _shy_ , okay?"

Becca gives her a suspicious look.

"Bullshit. You're not a shy person. Something's up. What's the matter?"

Sarah looks down at her wrist and plays with her bracelet nervously.

"I . . . What if they make fun of me?"

"They won't."

"What if they drop a bucket of blood on my head like they do in Carrie?"

"They super won't."

Sarah bites her lip.

"I just don't want to be up there in front of everyone. It's so scary . . ."

"Naw," Becca mumbles, "You're just insecure because of your sexual preference. I know certain people haven't been all that nice to you, but a talent show has nothing to do with . . . _that_."

Sarah frowns.

"They'll bring it up. It's like walking around with two heads. No matter what I do, they'll just think of me as . . . you know . . ."

"Being gay?" she finishes flatly.

"Yeah."

"But aren't you proud of it?"

Sarah shrugs.

"I don't know. It's not like it's something I can choose. You may as well ask me if I'm proud of breathing."

Becca fiddles with her hair. After looking around evasively for a few seconds, she exhales loudly.

"Sarah . . . It would really mean a lot to me if you performed in the talent show. I'm kind of nervous about it. My dance routine isn't all that great, but if someone else puts themself out there, I think it would really help."

"Well, I don't want to upstage you," Sarah replies mischievously.

Becca cuffs her.

"Can't you just do one thing? Something small?"

"Like what?" Sarah asks.

"I don't know. Singing?"

"I don't sing very well."

"Then you won't have to worry about upstaging me."

Sarah snorts.

"Becca, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I am _not_ entering the talent show."

But she _does_ enter, and she comes in second place, narrowly beating a ventriloquist. Her plate spinning got her a coupon for Bed Bath and Beyond (which she used to buy a new pillowcase), but it wasn't exactly her best work. She held back on purpose so that Becca could win the grand prize.

Why?

Well, that's just the kind of thing friends do.


	5. Adolescence

Of all the times it could have happened, it _had_ to be when Sarah was all alone. Well, not _all_ alone, because there are about fifty other kids in her choir camp, but her mother isn't there to tell her what to do, so she has to get creative with her solutions. Currently, she is spinning her underwear around to dry them, which is taking longer than expected. When she stops to take note of her progress, she is displeased to find that the reddish-brown stain in the crotch area is not going away. It faded when she rinsed the garment under hot water, but it's definitely going to leave a permanent mark.

By now, Sarah is sure that her friends are getting suspicious. They had been playing card games on the bunkbed when she felt herself leaking, and they're probably wondering why she hasn't returned yet. She hates to disappoint them, but what choice does she have? There's no one here who can help her, and she's almost wishing that she hadn't chosen to go on this trip in the first place. Of course, she couldn't have known that this would happen. There were no warning signs, despite what had been taught to her in school. It came right out of the blue, and at the worst possible time.

Right now, Sarah has a few options. One, she can tell a camp leader about what happened. That's probably a bad idea, since they're all male. Two, she can stuff toilet paper into her underpants to stop the leaking. That might work, only there's a lot more blood than she was expecting, and it's possible that the cheap single-ply stuff they use at the cabin won't be enough to soak it up. Three, she could run into the woods and live the rest of her life as a hermit, foraging for food and fending off bears. That last option sounds like a lot of fun, but it's probably not practical.

In the end, Sarah decides to stuff her pants with Kleenex. It's not a very good solution, and she's probably murdered several trees by doing it, but it's the only way to conceal her problem. During choir practice, she has to excuse herself several times to change her makeshift pad. She leaks through her pants one time, but it's in a place that doesn't show unless she bends over. After examining herself in the mirror from all angles, she determines that no one will notice the dark spot. The problem is pretty much resolved.

During free time, Sarah and her friends go out into the woods to do some exploring. The instructors told them that they were allowed to wander as long as they were back in time for lunch. They walk across a wooden bridge and find a small clearing with an altar in the center of it. Sarah stands on a cross made of painted, white stones. Then, she goes up to the concrete podium and clears her throat.

"My fellow Americans-"

One of the girls pushes her to the side.

"Don't be stupid, Sarah. You can't make jokes here. This is a church."

Sarah blinks.

"It looks like a forest to me."

In her heart, she knows that this joking around has the potential to escalate into an argument, because this girl knows that Sarah isn't interested in boys, and she's not very accepting of this fact. It was a huge mistake to tell her this, of course, but at the time, Sarah didn't think anything of it. Now, she has to suffer for a foolish decision made during a rather scandalous game of Truth or Dare.

"This is a sacred place!" the girl sneers, "You wouldn't understand. You're an atheist."

"No, I'm not!" Sarah snaps, "I'm nothing. I don't care about any of that stuff."

"That's why you're going to hell."

Sarah frowns.

"I'm not going to hell."

"You are!" the girl insists, "You're going to be sent to the devil because you're a sinner! God doesn't like people like you!"

Sarah glares at the girl for a long time. Then, her face softens and she gives a light shrug.

"If he's so upset about it, maybe he shouldn't have made me that way in the first place."

The rest of the girls are impressed by her comment. They give a chorus of "ooh", forcing Sarah's opponent to back down. She storms away angrily, obviously jealous that she's no longer the alpha female.

"Oh, snap!"

"Buuurn!"

"That was _awesome_ , Sarah!"

She beams humbly.

"It's no big thing. She needed to be put in her place."

The girls laugh.

"We're glad you showed her who's boss."

"Yeah, she was a real bitch!"

"Do you think she'll apologize?"

Sarah shakes her head.

"She'll never apologize, because she'll never change her mind. Some people never learn. But that's no problem. We don't need Becca anyway."


	6. Childhood

Sarah is one of those children who refuses to go to sleep when she's told. She'll delay her bedtime by any means necessary, including asking for a glass of water, brushing her teeth more than once, and pretending that she's afraid of the monster under her bed. She does this because she believes that there aren't enough hours in the day. By procrastinating, she's extending her awake-time, making full use of the hours she would normally lose. There's just so much to do in life that she refuses to waste time sleeping. Still, she _is_ kind of groggy . . .

"You don't fool me, pumpkin," her mother says sternly, "I know you're tired. Get into bed. Go on, now."

Sarah pouts and drags herself over to her bed resentfully. She slips under the covers, frowning all the while. As her mother tickles her belly, however, she can't stop herself from laughing.

"There's a good girl. Get nice and snug, okay? You need a good rest. Tomorrow is a big day."

Sarah grins.

"I love family photos."

Her mother brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Yes, I do too. If only your brothers and sisters were as eager."

Sarah cringes.

"Do you think we can get Bruce to sit still this time?"

"We'll find a way. Have you picked out a dress yet?"

"Yeah, the green one."

Her mother nods.

"Good choice. It looks nice on you."

"Yeah."

Sarah is quiet for a moment. Although her mother doesn't know it, she's deep in thought. There's something she's been meaning to ask her, but she doesn't quite know how to go about it. After a few seconds of intense pondering, she decides to be direct.

"Mommy . . ."

"Yes?"

"I've been wondering something."

"What is it?"

Sarah twiddles her fingers nervously as she speaks.

"Well . . . all the girls in tap class were talking about weddings today, and they started drawing what they wanted their future husbands to look like. I started drawing too, but halfway through, I realized that I don't _want_ a husband. I want the person I marry to be a girl. I realized that I'm not attracted to boys all that much. When I told my friends how I feel, they looked at me funny. Is there something wrong with me?"

Her mother looks shocked. Sarah shrinks away, afraid that she's said something wrong. Just when she thinks that her mother is about to start yelling, she smiles warmly.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Sarah. Don't let anyone ever tell you there is. You're my daughter, and you're special."

"Isn't 'special' just another word for bad?" Sarah whispers.

Her mother cradles her in her arms tenderly.

"No, baby, no. Everyone is special in their own way. Sometimes, people don't understand the way you think or feel, but that doesn't mean there's something wrong with the way you are. We're all just human beings trying to get through life. It doesn't matter who or what we are. A person is a person, no matter what they look like on the inside or outside."

Sarah bites her lip.

"But is it wrong for girls to love other girls?"

Her mother smiles.

"Sarah, you have a heart, right?"

She scrunches up her face as she considers this.

"I _might_ . . . I mean, I can't see it, but-"

"You do, honey. You have a pulse, which means you have a heart. Everyone does."

"What if you get a transplant?" Sarah asks.

Her mother holds up her finger.

"Stay with me, honey. Everyone in the world has a heart. Some people may have hearts made of metal or hearts that come from baboons, but they're still hearts. Even if a heart doesn't quite work properly, that doesn't change what it is. You still call it the same name. That's because it's common to everyone. Every person you meet, whether you like them or not, has a heart just like your own. Sometimes, two hearts can act as one. They don't care if their counterpart is less functional or made of metal or from a baboon. Love is more than just what hearts are: it's how they work together. As long as two people love each other, nothing else matters. That's why you can be different or the same. Hearts don't care."

Sarah leans back against her pillow.

"But that's not what the girls said. According to them, it's better to be normal and be interested in boys. They think I'm weird because I'm different."

Her mother looks at her sadly.

"I know, and there's nothing you can do about that. They're just speaking a different language. You're trying to get them to understand that "je t'aime" means "I love you", but they can't see that you're right. They're too preoccupied with linguistic differences to understand that your words mean the same thing, even though they sound different."

Sarah sighs.

"I guess . . . But will it ever stop? Will they ever learn to listen?"

Her mother gulps.

"I don't know, sweetie. We'll have to wait and see. Even if they never accept you for who you are, don't stop loving people on their behalf. Just because your love seems different, that doesn't make it any less real."

Sarah smiles.

"Because we're really saying the same thing, right?"

"Exactly."

Her mother kisses her on the forehead.

"Alright, you little monkey. Go to sleep. It's past your bedtime."

Sarah smiles and closes her eyes.

"I'll try to sleep, Mommy. Honest, I'll try."

Her mother stands up and closes the blinds.

"Good. I promise, Sarah, as long as you keep loving, tomorrow will be a better day."

Sarah believes her.

 **The End**


End file.
